


The Son Will Come Out

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Series: Light and Shadows, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ups and downs of being sons and being gay and being together.<br/>This story is a sequel to When Traces of Gray Remain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Son Will Come Out

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the sequel to "When Traces of Gray Remain" and will make much more sense if you've read that and the other two stories in the series, "When Daylight Comes", and "When Shadows Pass", in order to follow how events have unfolded and get acquainted with the original characters involved. The previous stories can be found either at the archive or on my site. 
> 
> That done, there's not only more of Jim/Blair, but Griff/Nick here as well... and a bit about Simon/Giselle. I'm having fun with these, and the next story should be posted soon, since I actually finished that one first.  Hope you enjoy, and comments, of course, are welcome.

## The Son Will Come Out

by JC

Author's webpage: [http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci/jcmain.html ](http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci/jcmain.html)

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's it.

* * *

The Son Will Come Out by J.C. 

Nicolas Alvarez loved to drive, and he had to admit that he was glad that he had let his lover talk him into taking the Ford Explorer on the road for his trip to Texas. He _almost_ wished he had kept it when Griff had presented it as his birthday gift months earlier, but having access to it was good enough. It was a few days drive from Cascade to Houston, but with the comfortable ride and the ease of handling as compared to his own car, not to mention the added benefits of cruise control and an awesome CD player, Nick had been enjoying the trip, driving for longer stretches than he normally would have, and feeling almost disappointed when he crossed the city line into his hometown. 

He had promised Griff, although begrudgingly at first, that he would check in along the way, instead of just calling when he got to his mother's house. And surprising himself again, he admitted that he had enjoyed that as well. It had been nice to hear Griff's voice a few times a day. They had had a rough go of things not too long past, and he felt incredibly fortunate to still have Griff in his life... _love_ in his life. Before meeting Griff he hadn't exactly given up on love, but he definitely hadn't been looking for it, either. Being with a handsome, sexy man that he had grown to like and admire had been something that he had wanted to explore, but he hadn't expected things to get so intense so quickly. He had never loved anyone else the way he loved Griffin Paris, and he had fallen fast, hard, and evidently, irrevocably. Though there had been a few times when it had crossed his mind that maybe he shouldn't have just jumped right in the way he had, he had also quickly learned that he didn't want to give up what there was between them. 

And that meant giving in sometimes, like leaving his old clunker in the condo's garage (which had turned out to be no hardship), and calling home every once in a while so that Griff didn't worry (which hadn't turned out to be a bad thing, either). It had actually made him feel loved and cared for, and he appreciated the extra moments with Griff that the phone calls had given him. 

They were only going to be apart for a few weeks, yet, as much as he was looking forward to seeing his mother, he already missed Griff. Reaching for the phone, he decided to make one last call before getting to his old house. He cursed as the phone slipped from his hand, and he stretched his arm trying to see if he could reach it, cursing again as he realized there was a big difference between the seats of the truck and those of his own car. 'Not too much longer,' he thought. 'I can call when I get there.' Still, a minute later, he gave a quick glance in his mirrors, slowing down as he leaned over, slipping a bit from his seat belt, taking his eyes off of the road just long enough to wrap his hand around the fallen cell phone. 

He missed the truck that came speeding up behind him; a vehicle not unlike the one he was driving, but much, much bigger. And his only awareness of it was the impact as he was hit, followed by pain and darkness. 

* * *

Jim Ellison answered the door to find his brother on the other side. He noticed the expression on Stephen's face, and his own pleasantly surprised look slipped and froze into some weird blend of that and bewildered concern as he ushered the other man inside. 

"I would have called..." Stephen began. 

"Come on in. What's up?" Jim asked after he had locked the door and turned to face his brother. "I didn't even know you were back in the country." 

"I've been back a couple of days. I got a call about Dad." 

Jim's face finally lost all traces of pleasantness, leaving him with a somewhat pained expression. He consciously relaxed his jaw, trying not to give away his sudden anxiousness, unaware that his hands had already clenched tightly into fists as he braced for further news. 

Stephen took in Jim's silent stance and continued. "He had a pretty bad fall, but he's okay, now." 

"A fall?" 

"Yes, they were worried about his hip at first, but that turned out all right, and they've been monitoring his heart and keeping an eye on him. He's home now, and I think he was shaken up more than anything, but he did get pretty banged-up and still has pain off and on." 

"But, he's okay?" 

"He seems fine, but I thought you might go see him." 

"Stevie, you know the old man and I aren't exactly on speaking terms. I think that a clear indication of how things stand is the fact that you were called back from London, while I was in the same city and knew nothing at all about the whole incident." 

When Stephen opened his mouth to speak, Jim cut him off. "Look, whatever progress Dad and I had been making before went out the window once he found out about me and Blair. He let me know in no uncertain terms how he feels about that." 

"Jim, I know that things haven't been totally right between the two of you, but you can't both be stubborn. Somebody's got to be the bigger man." 

"That's easy for you to say. You've always had it good with him. Even when you lost in those stupid competitions he was always instigating, you came out on top. I was the firstborn son, I was _supposed_ to win. So, I actually always lost. He could never just accept me, there were always things about me that bothered him, this thing with Blair is just one more. I've gotten used to it...you should, too." 

"But isn't this one of those times where you're supposed to put differences aside? When someone's hurt or sick or dying?" 

Jim felt a knife twist in his gut, because, of course, maybe that _was_ how it should be, but he remembered very clearly a time when he hadn't exactly been sick or hurt or dying, but being stranded in a jungle for eighteen months should certainly count as something at least as significant. And though he hadn't been the one to call, he knew the Army had contacted his next of kin, and yet he had been alone through his stay in the military hospital, and his debriefing at the base, in fact, had been alone all the way back to Cascade, with no word from either his father or his brother. It occurred to him that, even with the attempts at reconciling his relationships with both men, that was one little matter that had never come up. 

Slowly, he rubbed his face with both hands, feeling suddenly so _weary_. "Maybe so..." his voice trailed off as he noticed the focus of Stephen's attention. And, to his credit, he felt no urge to stuff his hand in his pocket and hide the ring from view. "Is there a problem?" 

"That looks like a..." 

"A ring. Yes, Blair gave me a ring." 

"Oh." 

"What? You have a problem with Blair, too, now?" 

"No, I just didn't realize it was so..." 

"So what?" 

"Well, I like Blair, really, but I thought you were just having some... I mean... you've been married..." Stephen stopped, his brow wrinkled in thought. "...oh, is that...?" 

"Stop right there. Let me tell you something, I'm not in the midst of some mid-life crisis, and Blair is not some fucking boytoy version of a 'blonde bimbo'. He's not the first man I've been involved with, and, no, that is _not_ why my marriage fell apart!" Jim took a deep breath before going on. "So, yeah, we're wearing rings, and, yes, it means as much as when I first had one on my finger. Hell, before two years with _Carolyn_ had gone by, we had already signed divorce papers and moved on." 

"Hey, calm down. I didn't mean... Look, I didn't know." 

"You were invited to the party a couple of months back." 

"But, when I said I was on my way to Australia, you didn't say, 'Hey, little brother, I just want you to know that what I have with Blair is the real thing, rings and all. Just had to share the happy news, sorry you'll miss the celebration.' So, if I'm surprised, forgive me. I know we aren't as close as two brothers could be, and I've been traveling a lot the past year and haven't been around, but sometimes it's _you_ , Jimmy. Sometimes, you don't give people a chance." 

Stephen moved towards the door, and Jim couldn't help feeling glad to see him go. Heart-to-hearts had never been a good thing in the Ellison household, and he really didn't want to hear anymore. But, Stephen turned to make one last comment. 

"Maybe you should think about that. He's old, he won't be around forever, and he'll take his regrets with him. Do you want to live with yours?" 

Before Jim could answer, there was the noise of someone outside the door, and Stephen stepped back just as it opened, and Blair Sandburg came walking in. 

"Hey, guys. Stephen, how you doing?" Blair's face unconsciously mirrored Jim's earlier expression, uncertainty and concern warring with pleasure and surprise. "Everything okay?" 

"Yeah, Blair. Great to see you. Just came by to see my big brother." Stephen made a point of looking down at Blair's left hand. "I hear congratulations are in order." 

Self-consciously, Blair brought his hands together, automatically twisting the gold band on his ring finger. "Um...yeah...yeah." 

"Well, congratulations. Jim's a lucky man." 

"Uh...I like to think that we both are," Blair said warily, unsure exactly how to take the remark. 

Stephen just nodded, with a smile on his face. "Guess I'll be on my way. See you, Blair. Jim." And then he made a quick exit. 

Blair hadn't even had time to give voice to the thought he'd had of asking Stephen to stay for dinner. "Jim? What the hell was _that_?" 

Somehow, he wasn't surprised when Jim answered, "Nothing," before walking over to the balcony doors, looking out as the sun began to set. It was actually a spectacular sight, but Blair had a feeling that Jim wasn't really seeing it at all. 

* * *

As soon as awareness hit, Nick was sure that the pain must have woken him. The distinct odor of his surroundings made him think he was in a hospital, and he hoped it were true, because he surely felt like he _needed_ to be in one. When his eyes focused, he found himself staring at a television set, dark and mute, bolted near the ceiling. Definitely, a hospital. He didn't seem to be able to move, but that didn't worry him, because he didn't _want_ to move. The pain of lying still was more than enough. All he really wanted to do was not feel for a while, and since there didn't seem to be anyone around to stop him, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him again. 

The next time, it was the sound of an insistent voice vying with the pain that woke him. He opened his eyes, but he didn't try to answer. A man came blearily into view, directly in his face, then a light was shined into his eyes, while the man continued to speak. 

"Can you hear me, young man?" 

Nick nodded his head, then wished he hadn't. 

"My name is Dr. Pinkett. Can you tell me your name?" 

Finally, Nick tried to speak, but only managed to make a quiet croak. After a gesture from the doctor, a cup of water with a straw appeared, and Nick took a few sips. He opened his mouth intending to say his name, but what came out was, "Head hurts." 

Amazingly, the doctor smiled at that. "Yes, I'm sure it does. And after we take care of a few things, we'll give you something for that. In the meantime, can you tell me your name?" 

"Nicolas Alvarez." 

"And can you tell me what happened?" 

"What happened?" 

"You were brought here to the hospital yesterday. Do you remember any of that?" 

Nick started to shake his head, but thought better of that, and whispered, "no". 

"Well, let me tell you, son, that you're a very lucky young man. Nothing's broken, but you do have several injuries, including cracked ribs. I'm more concerned about your head injury, and I'm going to send you down for a few more tests when we're done here. Then, we'll see about getting you something to take the edge off of the pain. Now, answer a few more questions for me." 

And Nick did, not asking the ones that were going through his own head. A few seconds after the doctor left, saying that someone would be in shortly to get him, the door to his room opened and he watched his mother walk in. He smiled automatically, the sight of her looking so well after her ordeal a few years earlier always made him extremely thankful. 

"Mama." 

"Oh, Nicky," a tearful voice answered. 

And then he remembered. Not all of it, but driving to Texas to visit his mother, stupidly reaching for a dropped cell phone, and...shit...if he felt as bad as he did, what the hell did Griff's truck look like? 

Oh fuck. 'Yesterday' the doctor had said. Nick barely paid attention to the soft tones of his mother's voice; there was only one thought in his head. 

Griff was probably freaking the fuck out. 

* * *

For Jim and Blair, 'nothing' had turned out to be the watchword for their evening. Nothing while they ate dinner, nothing while they both pretended to watch TV, nothing as first Jim, then Blair, gave up the pretense and headed up to bed. Nothing while they lay side by side, not sleeping, with 'something' in the air that was driving Blair crazy. 

Blair didn't think that the two of them had ever been so quiet. He had decided against pushing Jim on the subject of what had gone on with Stephen, but he was sure it must have something to do with William Ellison. His few attempts at idle chitchat had gone unacknowledged by Jim, so he had busied himself with his food, and his reading and his non-TV watching, with any number of possible scenarios running through his head. 

When Jim had gone up for the night, Blair had considered calling Stephen himself to get the information firsthand, but secret phone calls were risky with a Sentinel in the house, even if Jim had told him that he didn't use his abilities to invade the privacy of others. A few minutes later, he had dropped the idea, and also gone upstairs. 

'I'll just let him sleep on it,' he thought, though the idea of Jim 'sleeping on' something could very well mean Jim pushing it further beneath the surface. 'Maybe I should just bite the bullet, and bring it up now.' 

Before he could utter a word, Jim exclaimed, "Jesus, Sandburg, how am I supposed to get any sleep with you doing all of that thinking!" 

Blair almost apologized for disturbing Jim's sensitive hearing with the loud clicking of the wheels turning in place inside his head before he realized how ridiculous that was. Then again, maybe his body was somehow giving away his inner agitation in other ways. Once more, Jim interrupted his thoughts. 

"My dad had some kind of fall, but he's all right. Okay?" 

Automatically, Blair turned on his side to face Jim, his hand reaching out, not touching, but settling for fiddling with the fabric of Jim's boxers. 

"He's really okay?" 

"That's what Stephen says." 

"Okay, so...?" 

"So, he's fine and I don't need to go see him." 

"Oh." 

"End of story." 

"Jim..." 

"Christ! What exactly do you think the words 'end of story' mean?" 

"Look, I'm no fan of your father's and what he's done in the past, but family dynamics can be complicated. Sometimes, it's just important to know that you did the right thing, regardless of how it turns out. Maybe he'll never change, maybe you won't either when it comes to him, but *somebody's* got to make the first move. *Somebody's* got to be the bigger--" 

"I swear, Sandburg, if you say 'bigger man', I'm going to find someplace else to sleep tonight." 

"Jim, hold up, I just mean--" His words cut off when Jim sat up, flinching from his touch. "Jim?" 

"Please, will you drop it?" Jim asked, rising from the bed. "I've been the bigger man, Chief. When I was eleven years old and I buried my senses so my dad wouldn't have a freak for a son. When I went off to the army instead of hanging around to disappoint him with how I'd turned out. When I didn't impose on his life after finally getting out of the jungle and coming back here. When I didn't let my feelings interfere with doing my job when his life was in danger. When I didn't kill him after listening to him say that my being with you sickened him." Jim's voice was flat, defeated, and it brought a lump to Blair's throat. "So, if I want to be the son of a bitch this time, that's my business. Not yours. You wouldn't understand. You never had a brother to deal with. You never even had a father to deal with." 

Blair didn't move or say a word as Jim grabbed his sweats from the foot of the bed and walked slowly down the stairs. But, he breathed a sigh of relief when he only heard the creak of the sofa and not Jim going out the door. He felt sick and he couldn't get that freaking golf ball out of his throat. The things that Jim had said.... He fought not to panic over how quickly he had fucked things up and tried to think. Before he had come to any conclusions, he was already at the bottom of the stairs. 

Jim was sprawled out on the couch, one foot on the floor, one arm hanging over the edge. His other arm was flung over his eyes. Blair was still debating whether to approach or retreat when Jim spoke. 

"I'm sorry about that crack about your father." His voice sounding the way Blair felt. 

"'S okay. I shouldn't have... I didn't mean..." 

"Come here, Chief." 

Blair went over, standing next to the couch, trembling when Jim's fingers lifted to tease the skin on the backs of his legs. Sinking down to his knees while Jim sent gentle touches skimming over his ass, trailing up his back, settling on his neck. Breathing deep, he lay his head on Jim's chest. Listening to the deep rumble of Jim's voice. 

"I don't want things to be this way with my family, but they are. And, maybe you're right, maybe someone has to do something before it's too late to do anything. But, it can't be me this time. Okay? It can't be me." 

"Okay." Blair reached out and hesitantly touched Jim's leg, sighing when Jim didn't try to move away. They exchanged caresses until Jim's breathing slowed, his hand falling away. And Blair sat there, still on the floor by the couch, listening to Jim's heartbeat under his ear, wishing for things that had never been. 

* * *

Five a.m. and Nick was awake. Not by choice, but because of one more in the regular intervals of interrupted sleep that involved poking and prodding by the nursing staff; part and parcel of a hospital stay. Still, it was encouraging that, at least, he _did_ wake, and also the majority of his body's aches and pains had receded. The all-over throbbing had gone, leaving only sore points at his ribs, his back, and his shoulders that he didn't really feel until near time for his next dose of medication. His head didn't hurt much, though his face twinged occasionally, like when he talked, and his mind seemed to have cleared, with just the time immediately following the accident still missing from his conscious recollection. 

That only left the matter of Griff. He needed to call him, let him know what had happened and reassure him, keep him calm. Not to mention, keep him from taking the next flight out to Houston. 

Nick closed his eyes, thinking that it was still too early to call the West Coast. They would be bringing in his breakfast in a few hours. After that, he could deal with it. He wanted to get it taken care of before his mother came back to visit. 

* * *

A distant ringing disrupted Blair's rather troubling trip through dreamland, and made him aware of an aching in his neck and back and knees. He tried to orient himself and slowly remembered falling asleep on the floor beside the couch, head on Jim's chest. Said chest moved under him and he heard Jim speaking soft and low, then louder, calling him, and something cold and hard poked at his shoulder, forcing him to fully awaken. 

" _Chief_." 

Blair stretched a little, wincing as his muscles tried to uncramp, blinking blearily, finally focusing on the phone that Jim was holding out to him. 

"It's Griff...about Nick." 

"H'lo?" Blair's voice was clogged with sleep. He cleared it and tried again. "Hello?" 

"Blair, I'm sorry to call so early, but I was wondering if you had heard from Nick." 

"Nick? No, not since he left. Why? Something wrong?" 

"No. I mean, I don't know. He had kept in touch on his way out, and he was due to get into Houston night before last. I haven't heard from him since. I guess he's caught up visiting with his family, but I had expected him to call to tell me he made it." 

"I don't know, Griff. I think I have his mom's number if you want me to look and call you back." 

"Um, I have that. For emergency use. And I'm trying not to overreact. Just thought I'd check with you." 

"I'm sure he's fine, but if I hear from him, I'll give him hell and have him call you." 

Griff gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah, okay. Sorry to bother you." 

"No problem. I need to get up from here, anyway," Blair said, noting the literal truth of that. "Later." 

"Later, Blair." 

After handing back the phone, Blair stretched again, and tried to stand, but was pulled down on top of Jim. 

"Morning." 

Blair smiled into Jim's neck. "Yeah, morning. Why didn't you do this about five hours ago? Save me some aches and pains?" 

"You're a big boy, Sandburg. Do I have to tell you not to fall asleep on the floor at your age?" 

Blair could have said something about not being on the floor in the first place, if Jim hadn't been on the couch, but that would have meant dredging up the tension from the night before, and he didn't want to go there. At least, not quite yet. Too early, especially without any caffeine in his system. Besides, the comforting warmth of Jim's body underneath him felt much too nice. There would be time enough later to consider the subject of fathers and sons. He moved his mouth to Jim's, kissing him soundly. 

"Just for that, you get to come help me in the shower. Put those sensitive fingers to work and ease my suffering." 

"Yeah?" 

"Oh, yeah," Blair moaned, as Jim wasted no time in using his skill with the fingers in question, performing magic, not only working out the pain, but taking Blair to the heights of pleasure. 

* * *

Nick's a grown man, everything is fine, he's busy letting his mother fuss over him, and he'll call soon. Griff kept up that mantra to himself as he left to make a run to the grocery store, making sure to take his cell phone with him. He was still repeating it when he returned, chiding himself for the low-level feeling of dread that he couldn't shake, and chalked it up to simply missing Nick so much. 

A strong wave of relief swept over him when, after putting the food away, he walked past his answering machine and noticed the blinking numeral '1'. His heart literally skipped a beat, and he felt a grin slowly spread across his face, certain that Nick had finally called. He pressed 'play', frowning at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. 

"This is Officer Raul Garcia of the Houston Police Department calling for a Mr., uh, Griffin Paris. Mr. Paris, your vehicle, a black 2000 Ford Explorer was involved in a traffic accident on the evening of the 26th and is now in our possession. The driver, a Nicolas Alvarez, is currently in the hospital, but we have been told that he has regained consciousness and we will be speaking to him later. But, since the vehicle is registered in your name, we'll need you to fill out some forms for its release. If you are not able to come in person, we can mail you the proper papers, and you'll need to make appropriate arrangements since the vehicle is not drivable at this point, or if you have access to a fax machine, you can handle it that way, as well." 

Officer Garcia gave a phone number where he could be contacted and then said goodbye. The answering machine whirred, clicked, and fell silent, and Griff sat down hard on the edge of the table, knocking the device to the floor. 

Accident...hospital...regained consciousness. It took Griff eleven full minutes to process the information and collect himself enough to take action, which meant reaching for the phone. Only to be startled when it rang as soon as he touched it. 

"Hello?" He was surprised that his voice sounded so much steadier than he actually felt. 

"Hey, Griff. It's me. Did I wake you?" 

Nico...Nico...Nico...the name, the voice, and the emotion resonated through him, and eventually he gave voice to it. "Nico..." 

"Yeah, I know. I should have called sooner, but I had a little problem with my cell phone. Um, well, I guess more like a little accident. With the truck. I'm not sure how bad it is, but I swear I'll take care of it. It might--" 

"Nico!" Griff firmly cut into Nick's rambling. "I just got a call from the police. They said you were in the hospital...unconscious." 

"Shit. Yeah, I was getting to that. But I'm fine, Griff. Really." 

"Nico..." 

"Seriously. Okay, I'm banged up quite a bit, but that's it. I lost a fight with an airbag, but I'll be good as new in no time." 

"I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight out." 

"No, Griff, don't. I'll be out of here in a day or two, and there's really nothing you can do. Plus, my mother is here taking care of everything. It'll all be okay." He paused. "Sorry about the truck, though." 

"Fuck the truck." Griff's voice betrayed his frustration and his anxiety. "Are you really okay?" 

"Bumps and bruises, that's all. Concussion, so I was hazy for a while, otherwise, I would have called you before now." 

"I was worried." 

"I know." 

"I'm _still_ worried." 

"Don't be. I'll keep in touch, and I'll be fine. I'll just spend some time with the family as planned, and I guess I'll have to book a flight back." 

"I have to fill out some papers before the police department will release the truck." 

"I'll take care of it. It's my fault." 

"Don't worry about that. Get well. I'm serious. You better be okay." 

"You're not the only one with a hard head." 

Despite his troubled emotions, Griff smiled, but only for a brief moment. "I'd feel better if I could see you." 

"I love you for it, but, please, don't worry." 

"You wouldn't hold anything back from me about your condition, would you?" 

"If I wasn't okay, I swear, I'd tell you." There were some noises in the background along with Nick's muffled voice. Then, "A nurse is here with her instruments of torture, so I've gotta go. My cell phone is out of commission, so you won't be able to reach me on it, but I'll call you back and give you the number here." 

"Fine. Love you, Nico." 

"You too." 

The connection was broken, and Griff felt slightly relieved but still not completely satisfied. He picked up the answering machine, replaying the message to get Officer Garcia's number, thinking that he could take care of his car, and get some more detailed information about the accident in the bargain. 

* * *

Blair ran his fingers through his hair, noting idly that it was time for a trim, or maybe he should finally just cut it short. As it was, he was already tempted to just pull out it out in chunks by the roots because he had been wracking his brain all day over what to do about Jim and William Ellison. Common sense told him he should do nothing. The problems between the two were deep-rooted, and Blair was sure that neither party would welcome his interference. Besides, he thought, as Jim had so appropriately pointed out, despite insight he may have picked up over the years in Psych classes and the observation of friends and acquaintances, he didn't have any personal experience when it came to fathers and sons. Hell, if truth be told, given the nature of his relationship with Naomi, he wasn't sure he could offer advice about _mothers_ and sons. Except to know that as much as she infuriated him sometimes, his love for her had never wavered. 

It occurred to Blair that that was probably part of Jim's problem. That although Jim made every effort to act indifferent where his father was concerned, the love was still there, and, deep down, it still mattered what William Ellison, said, or did, or thought. And, the more time that went by, the likelier it became that the chance for resolution might be left until too late. 

Blair didn't much care that Jim's father had been a stern, intolerant man who seemed to be willing to live out the rest of his life that way, except for the fact that Jim kept getting hurt from the fallout. And Blair cared about that a great deal. 

Perplexing, the ties, real and perceived, between parents and children. Blair's own relationship with his mother could certainly be called unconventional, yet he didn't feel that he loved her any less than other children in more usual family situations loved their parents. And, actually, the so-called 'normal' family had changed so much, that having a single parent wasn't so odd, though not knowing who your father is could probably still be considered abnormal. Even to him, if he focused on it hard enough. But, he had a hard time imagining what it would have been like living with two parents...with a _father_. And he didn't really miss it. Maybe because he'd never had it. Sometimes having just Naomi had been _more_ than enough. There had been men over the years, friends of his mother's, and a few of them had even acted seriously 'fatherly' towards him, but those episodes had never been long lasting. 

Blair had always thought that he should feel a part of him was missing somehow, but, guiltily, he never had. Still, he had retained a sort of mild curiosity about the invisible man that was part of his biological makeup. When he had been young, he had showered his mother with questions, but her vague, sometimes contradictory, answers had eventually made him realize that Naomi's determination to withhold the truth was stronger than his to discover the same. Later, when he was older and could have pressed it, used his energy and persuasiveness to pursue it, he hadn't. Partly because he was no longer sure that he really _wanted_ to know. Truth was oftentimes much better in theory. 

Over the years, he had formed his own fantasies. His father could be anyone he wanted him to be, and he had long ago given up the childish notions of the picture perfect man, handsome, rich, and without fault, settling instead for vague impressions of someone who was tolerant and expressive and knowledgeable, and somehow living oblivious to the fact that he had produced a pretty good kid named Blair Sandburg. He wasn't sure he wanted to give up that particular figment of his imagination. Though, he had always figured that, one day, curiosity would out. Particulars about medical history or appearance or personality...just things to know or to observe from the outside. But, he had been on the fringes of enough groups to recognize that he had a tendency to infiltrate and get involved, and experience had taught him that while some groups were friendly, others were hostile. 

Hostile, he could do without. As could Jim. It would be better to just leave the Ellison situation alone, he thought, but he remembered the pain in Jim's voice the night before as Jim had recounted the years and what he had sacrificed in the name of appeasement. How he could possibly counteract a past filled with so much discord, Blair didn't know, and he was probably the _last_ person who should try, given William's view of his son's choice of lovers, but _something_ had to be done. 

All he had to do was figure out what that 'something' could be. 

* * *

Nick sat on the arm of the sofa, moving a little stiffly, but thankfully, not feeling too sore. He had been able to cut out his pain medication for the most part after the doctors had released him with the admonition that he see his personal physician for a follow-up visit. He would have agreed to anything to get out of there. 

From his perch, he looked out of the living room window, relaxing a bit when he was sure that his mother was settled in her room and not about to descend on him fussing about not sitting on the actual seat of the couch. Sometimes she still tired easily, and it had been an exhausting few days for her. Nick wasn't surprised that she was going to bed early. 

Outside, activity in the neighborhood was winding down. People coming home from work, kids called into dinner reluctantly ending their fun, a few older folk sitting quietly on porches of small, neat houses with nice-sized yards enjoying the last bit of light. Nick noticed his mother's yard out front needed watering. It never looked the same as when his father had been alive. Before he went back, he thought he should tend to it, since it seemed his brothers wouldn't bother. In fact, they hadn't been around at all since he'd been in town. 

Not that he had expected to see them. He had never really been close to his older brothers, and as much as he liked being back home, he always felt lonely there. An undercurrent of isolation that stretched back to his teen years when he had first realized that he was gay. It wasn't hard to remember how it had felt lying in his room, so distant from the rest of his family. Determined to be true to himself as much as he could, even in the face of his father's treatment, but still too afraid to take any real steps. Refusing to date girls, unable to date boys. The day he left for Rainier University had been like being paroled. The year that he had spent home when his mother had been sickest had brought all of that back. Though, by then, he had broadened his horizons enough to have gay friends in Houston and to know the places to go when he didn't want to be alone. Still, it was difficult to come back to the house where he felt he had to leave part of himself outside. 

Nick watched the sun set on the streets of his childhood, the desire to hear Griff's voice hitting him, sudden and strong. Absently, he noticed a white sedan slowly pull up and stop across from the house. He didn't pay it much attention, instead watching Mr. Payne, who had lived two doors down since before Nick was born, scoop up a fat gray cat and go back inside. A car door slammed, and his eyes went to the source of the sound, his heart speeding up, pounding in excitement and, then, agitation. It was Griff, looking as good as ever, and Nick was instantly glad to see him, but that was immediately followed by the alarming reality of his lover showing up in his mother's neighborhood...headed straight for his mother's house. 

He took a deep breath and slipped out the front door while Griff was tossing something onto the back seat of the car. By the time Griff started crossing the street, Nick was leaning back against the door with his arms crossed. 

Forcing his voice to sound casual, he asked, "Go for an evening drive and make a wrong turn out of Cascade?" 

"No, actually, I came to see a sick friend." 

"The same 'friend' that told you that he was fine." 

When Griff was standing directly in front of Nick, he cupped Nick's chin with one hand, turning Nick's face this way and that. "Yeah, well, I've seen you look better." 

Moving his face away from Griff's hand, Nick tried to smile. "Yeah, well, I've _felt_ better, but, as you can see, I'm well enough to stand on my own two feet." 

"Okay, I see that. I guess I just needed to know for sure," Griff answered, trying out a smile of his own and moving in closer for a hug and a kiss. 

Nick stepped aside, eyes searching for any remaining signs of life from the neighbors, his face frowning, an expression akin to a grimace of pain. "Still a little sore," he said, rubbing first his jaw, and then, his shoulder, grateful that it wasn't really a lie. But he sensed Griff's confused hurt, and it made him ashamed. "You didn't have to come all the way out here," he continued, reaching out and squeezing Griff's arm briefly, "but, thanks. 

Griff merely shrugged. "I had to come and see about the truck, anyway." 

"Oh, shit. The truck. The cops said that it wasn't good." 

Again, Griff shrugged. "I had it towed, and I'll let the insurance handle the rest. As long as you're okay." 

Nick nodded earnestly, then said, "When are you headed back?" 

After a brief pause, Griff replied, "I don't know. I guess I thought...I guess I hadn't thought that far ahead." 

"Why don't we go someplace where we can talk, grab a bite to eat, and then get you a place to stay if you plan on hanging out for a few days. Give me a minute to change out of my sweats and put on some jeans or something." 

When Nick opened the door, his mother was standing there. "Everything okay, Nicky?" 

"Yes, everything's fine. Uh, this is my...friend...Griffin Paris. Griffin, this is my mother, Rosa Alvarez." 

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Alvarez," Griff said, holding out his hand. 

Nick's mother hesitated, looking from Griff to Nick and back again, finally holding out her own hand and allowing it be shaken. 

"I'm going out for a while," Nick told her. Don't wait up." He motioned her inside and said to Griff, "I'll be right back." 

"I'll wait in the car," Griff said, walking away, but not missing the hushed, urgent conversation that Nick and Mrs. Alvarez were having in Spanish as the front door closed. After getting behind the wheel, he made a quick call on his cell phone. He hung up and started the car just as Nick came out. 

When they had driven enough to put some distance between them and the place where Nick had grown up, Nick spoke. 

"Well?" 

"Well, what?" 

"Come on, I'm sure that you have something to say. Go ahead. Get it off your chest now." 

"Nothing to say, Nico." 

"You shouldn't have shown up unannounced." 

"Yeah, I can see that. But, I knew you would have told me not to come at all, and since I had to be here, anyway, it seemed stupid not to see you." 

"You could have called. I would have met you somewhere." 

"You're right. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about the whole situation." 

Nick slumped against the door, looking out at the passing cityscape, and for several moments they rode in silence. 

"I've reserved a room, and I'll see about getting a flight out tomorrow. Since I'm this close, I think I'll go home myself and spend some time in Atlanta." 

"You don't have to go, Griff," Nick said, not wanting Griff to go, despite how complicated it seemed with Griff there. 

"No, this is your time to spend with your family. But, it's not every day that I get a call from some cops telling me that my _lover_ has been in a car accident and is unconscious in the hospital." 

"Griff...it's just that--" 

"Oh, hell, Nico, I don't care, okay? Scratch that...I _do_ care that you don't feel comfortable being around me here, and that we all stood there and pretended that you and I are just friends, but you have to deal with your family the best way you can. I might wish it were different, but I don't judge you for that." 

The suddenly too-loud sound of Nick's breathing caused Griff to take his eyes from the road, glancing over with concern. He sighed, then reached out. 

"Come here." 

Nick moved close against Griff's side, his breathing still rough, but quieter. 

"Pain?" Griff asked him. 

"Not really, no." 

When they stopped at a red light, Griff looked down, and Nick didn't make him ask. He kissed Griff gently, then a little more passionately, breaking apart in time enough to move ahead when the light turned green, leaving less distance between them when he finally returned to his side of the car. 

After a while, Nick said, "You know I'm not ashamed of you or what I feel about you." 

It wasn't exactly a question, but Griff could still tell that Nick wanted an answer. "I know." He made a turn, seeing the sign for the hotel ahead. "Hungry?" 

"No. My mother's been going crazy with cooking for me." 

Griff pulled into the hotel garage, and found an empty spot. "Well, after I check in, feel like sitting in the restaurant and watching me eat?" 

They got out, and Nick eyed the shape of Griff's ass as Griff bent over and got a bag out of the trunk. "How about if you order room service, get naked, and I do a whole lot more than watch?" 

Griff grinned, eyes narrowing with lust as he considered the idea. "I'm not sure you're up for that." Adding, "You know what I mean" when Nick leered at him. 

"I might not be able to put my full moves on you, but I think I can work something out." 

Griff rolled his eyes as he shouldered his bag and headed for the elevators that would lead to the lobby. 

Nick followed, snickering, and watched Griff press 'L' as the doors closed behind them. "Did I tell you that I missed you?" 

"You haven't even been here a week," Griff said, mockingly, without looking in Nick's direction. 

"Yeah, pathetic, isn't it?" Nick asked with a grin that Griff could hear. 

Turning, Griff said, "I don't know, it kinda makes my dick hard," bobbing his eyebrows for effect. 

When the doors opened, Griff got out and went in the direction of the front desk, leaving a slightly stunned and instantly aroused Nick to catch up. 

* * *

Jim knocked, then poked his head into Simon's office without waiting for an invitation. "Got a minute, sir?" 

Simon looked up for a second, then returned his attention to the papers that he was signing. "Yeah, come in and have a seat. Let me take care of this." 

Jim sat, mind wandering, absently taking note of the scents and sounds around him. The usual aroma of cigars was surprisingly faint, and Jim realized that it had been a while since he had actually seen Simon smoking. The scent of coffee was strong, though. In the office, Simon's blend of the day--hazelnut--almost overpowered the bitter smell of the numerous cups of cheap break-room coffee sitting on desks in the bullpen. Familiar scents, as familiar as the sounds of murmuring chatter of cops at work, phones ringing, papers rustling...that conglomeration of sensory stimuli that he usually didn't notice unless he focused on it. Simon's voice, sharp with concern, broke through his concentration. 

" _Jim_. Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, just..." Jim shrugged, opting not to explain. Any explanation sounded too much like a zone-out, even to him. "Um, I wanted to make sure there weren't any problems with the Prather file. Everything look okay?" 

Jim ignored the odd look that Simon gave him and the wary tone when he spoke. 

"It was fine. I sent it over to the DA's office this morning. Are you sure you're all right? I know that Sandburg's busy putting the finishing touches on his seminar, and that you're stuck with all of the paperwork, but you've never had a problem before with turning out a perfect case file on your own. What's going on?" 

Again, Jim shrugged. "Just thought I'd check." 

"You're not upset about the program that Sandburg cooked up, are you? Or about my part in it?" 

"No, Simon, really. I guess it's just too quiet this week. Catching up on files isn't my thing." Jim shifted in his seat. "Okay, well, since there weren't any problems..." His words trailed off as he stood. 

"Jim, are you sure that there's nothing that you want to talk about? Maybe later when we can kick back with a beer or two?" 

Shaking his head, Jim walked to the office door, but then hesitated and turned back around. 

"Let me ask you a question." Jim watched Simon reach for a cigar, and waited for him to nod. "What would you do if Darryl told you that he was...gay?" 

Simon's hand seemed to move in slow motion as he brought the cigar to his lips while staring intently at Jim. Then, the moment passed, and he took the cigar between his fingers rolling it back and forth. "Is there something I should know, Jim? Darryl been talking to you or Sandburg?" 

"No. Just a hypothetical. Seriously." Jim crossed his arms, leaning back against the door. "So, what would you do?" 

"What would I _do_?" 

"Well, how would you feel? I know that you're okay about me and Sandburg, but Darryl is your son." 

"Right. He's my son. No matter what." Simon looked down at the cigar in his hands, sighed, and then put it away. "I don't pretend to be the perfect father. Hell, there have been plenty of times when I've felt like I've been floundering where Darryl's concerned, especially since the divorce. We've butt heads more than once, and I'm sure we will again." Smirking at Jim when he said, "Don't know where he gets that bullheadedness from." Then more seriously, "But I'd hate to think that we'd ever go head to head about _who_ he is. If you're asking if I'd be happy about it, well, I wouldn't be _un_ happy, but I'd worry. Then again, I worry now, anyway. It's a fucked-up world, Jim, you know that. I thank God everyday that Darryl's not on drugs or in jail or worse. And finding out he's gay is a far cry from 'worse'. I just want him to be safe and healthy and happy. Does that answer your question?" 

Jim nodded. "Yeah, thanks, Simon." 

"You know, Jim," Simon said, as Jim once again turned to go, "you're never too old to learn a lesson or two. I've learned that there's a lot to be said for having love in your life. I want my son to have that. And I've also learned that love is not always where and with who you expect to find it." 

Jim grinned a little. "So that's how it is, huh? With Gigi?" Even Sentinel sight couldn't detect the flush that came to Simon's face, but Jim could feel the heat of it. 

After a minute, Simon met Jim's eyes. "She's so young and I feel like I'm in so deep." 

There had been changes in Simon, Jim noted. He hadn't really been paying attention before, but it was definitely a different man sitting behind the desk than the one who had sat there since the finalizing of an often bitter divorce. 

"She's a good person, and she seems to be good for you. You've been seeing her for months. It's kinda late to be bothered about the fact that you're over forty and she's not. Especially since you just so much as admitted that you love her." 

"Jim, she's not even over _thirty_ , but it's not her age. Not really. I guess I never expected anything to come out of this. Though I took my time with it, trying not to make any mistakes, because I really wanted something to come out of it, but, I think I've been waiting for her to decide that it wasn't me that she wanted to be with." 

"From where I stand, Simon, it doesn't look like she's going anywhere." 

"That's just it. When her project with the university is finished, she _will_ be going somewhere--back home to New York. Which gives me about five months." 

"So, you'll rack up a lot of frequent flyer miles. You can handle that." 

Simon made a noise not unlike a 'harrumph'. "Right, like I get a lot of time to get away." 

"Make time. Or better yet, in five months maybe she'll decide that she's found a reason to stay. Either way, don't let your doubts fuck it up. One of those lessons I keep trying to learn." 

The room fell silent as both men drifted in thought. Jim was the first to collect himself. 

"Well, I better get back to my desk. Paperwork doesn't do itself." 

"Jim...are you sure there's nothing I need to know about Darryl?" 

"No, it's just..." Once more, Jim shrugged it off. 

"I want Darryl to feel that he can talk to me about anything. If he were to come to you or Blair, would you remind him of that?" 

"Sure, Simon." 

"And Jim...that goes for you, too. Anything, anytime." 

Jim tipped his head in acknowledgment, or, maybe, thanks. 

"Now, get back to work, Detective." 

"Yes, sir." 

Jim left, shutting the door softly, and Simon stared after him, mind awash with thoughts. It wasn't hard to guess that what was weighing on Jim had to do with William Ellison, and Simon wondered if he should track down Sandburg and give him the third degree, or maybe just call Mr. Ellison and give him hell. When he finally reached for the phone, it was because he suddenly wanted to hear Darryl's voice...and Giselle's, but, in the end, he settled for concentrating on finishing up his own paperwork as quickly as possible, so that maybe he could leave the station at a reasonable hour for a change. 

* * *

As the cab drove off, Nick quickly walked into the house, not looking around, but unable to help wondering if anyone was watching him. It wasn't the first time that he had come home in the morning hours after being out all night, and he had never given a second thought to who might be watching or what they might be thinking. But, having Griff there on his front porch the night before...he didn't see how there could have been any mistaking the intimacy between the two of them. He could only imagine what was buzzing through the neighborhood grapevine, now that there was solid evidence for any speculations they may have held for years. 

Absurdly, he felt relieved once he was inside, even though he wasn't quite sure that his mother wouldn't have more to say. He had left without letting her finish, and he still wasn't in the mood for any conflict. Especially since everything had worked out so well with Griff. He felt happily fucked and well loved, and he wanted to enjoy that for as long as possible. 

Delicious smells greeted him, and by the familiar sounds coming from the kitchen, he could tell that his mother was cooking. He was tempted to just slip by and go to his room, but he went to speak to her, anyway. 

"Sit down, Nicky. I'm making your favorite." 

"No thanks, I've already eaten," Nick said, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the kitchen, but the memory of having breakfast earlier with Griff...in bed. 

"Fine." There was the tiniest edge to Rosa Alvarez's voice, and the skillet she was holding dropped onto the stove a little too loudly. 

"I'm sorry." It felt as if he were apologizing for a whole lot more than missing breakfast, and Nick hated that. 

Slowly, his mother turned around. "I'm sorry, too, Nicky. I know that your father was hard on you and your brothers...especially on you, but he was only trying to raise his family right. I thought after he was gone, maybe you would no longer feel you had to be so...rebellious." With a bittersweet smile on her face, she added, "You were always my favorite, maybe that's why you are..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked away. 

Nick felt like screaming, but his words were low and sad. "No, that's not why. It's not because of anything that any of you did. I'm not rebelling against you. It's just how I am. It's _who_ I am. There's nothing wrong with me. Nothing to blame anyone for." 

"But, it _is_ wrong, Nicky. I don't understand why you can't see how wrong it is." 

"Mama..." Nick started, but then, he stopped. What more could he say to make her understand that it wasn't just not wrong, but for him it was so right? 

"You're my son, and I love you. I've never wanted to turn you away, but you can't parade your...'friends'...here. This is my home and I have to live in this neighborhood." 

"He was concerned about me, Mama, besides, I didn't invite him, and it won't happen again." 

"Why can't you just..." 

But, Nick walked away, only vaguely hearing his mother lapse into emotional Spanish. He went to his room, changed into something he didn't mind getting dirty and threw himself into doing yard work with a vengeance, working up a sweat as well as a head of steam. Even though he was sure that most of the houses were empty, he felt as if dozens of eyes were on him, or maybe it was the houses themselves watching him, judging him, finding him lacking. The air suddenly seemed so hot that he couldn't breathe, couldn't seem to catch not even one more breath. It was only when he let it go in a rush that he realized that he had been holding it in. He snatched up the garden tools, tugged on the hose, dropping everything against the side of the house and went back inside, grateful, at least, for the coolness. 

Ignoring the sounds of his mother puttering around in the back room, he walked with purpose to his bedroom. He was mad enough to throw things, but he had had years of practice controlling his anger, so it was the hurt, the disappointment, the sorrow that crashed in on him, weighing him down with weariness. Still, he couldn't rest, his mind wouldn't let him, and after tossing restlessly on the bed, he wandered aimlessly around his room, looking at the leftover artifacts of his youth that he hadn't cared about leaving behind. 

Finally, he got a notebook out of his bag, and sat down at his old, scarred desk and started writing a letter to his mother. It wasn't accusatory, didn't show his anger or any of the other emotions running through him, instead he just shared with her all of the things that he had held back over the years. Parts of his life that he wished he had always been able to talk to her about. 

She knew about his academic successes, his love of writing, so many of his interests and dreams. But, he had never told her about his first date, which happened his freshman year at Rainier with a boy in his Anthro 101 class, or his year-long relationship with Professor David Parks and why it had ended and how it had hurt him, or about falling in love with Griff...and the future he hoped they might have together. Bits and pieces that he would have been able to tell her had things been different...if any of the people he had been involved with had been women. 

Nick knew that she still wouldn't want to know any of what he was writing to her, and he couldn't make her read the letter, anyway, but he hoped that she would. Maybe seeing that glimpse of him, so harmless, so normal on paper, a man struggling with life and love like everyone else, would open her eyes. Maybe. 

But one thing was certain. He could no longer come back to that little corner of Houston where he didn't feel he could be the person that he was everywhere else. 

When he was finished, he packed his bag, and called Griff, leaving the letter on the kitchen table for his mother to find, before going outside to wait. When Griff pulled up twenty minutes later, Nick got in the car and rode away without looking back. 

* * *

The neighborhood was quiet, clean, and affluent. Streets rarely troubled by the type of disorder that Jim had to deal with almost everyday. The kind of place where the dirt was usually only found _behind_ closed doors. From a few blocks away, Jim zeroed in on the house in which he had grown up, a definite reflection of the area in which it stood. As usual, Jim felt out of place there, a reaction he'd had long before he had become a cop driving an old blue and white pickup truck. It had nothing to do with being uncomfortable around wealth and privilege and everything to do with conflicting expectations and ambitions. He still wasn't sure why he had changed his mind and shown up there. For every good reason that he could come up with to go see his father, there seemed to be a compelling, opposing reason to stay away. 

As he got closer, he focused his hearing, listening for familiar voices. Abruptly, he clearly heard his father in the midst of some conversation. On the phone, Jim thought. Then, he noticed Stephen's car, sleek and silver and sporty, sitting out front, and, as if on cue, Stephen's voice came through, just as clearly, the other half of an obviously pleasant discussion. So different from the tones Jim remembered from his youth, different even from the last time he'd talked with both his father and his brother. 

Pulling into a spot across the street, Jim left his motor running, distracted by a figure through a front window. He was tempted to piggyback sight and sound and take in the full embodiment of Ellison domestic bliss, but instead he reined everything in. With a deep breath, he cut the engine off, trying to relax the frowning expression he could feel settling on his face. Trying to convince himself that it wouldn't be so bad to just check on his father, exchange a few words of small talk with Stephen, maybe let Sally talk him into eating a piece of her apple crumb pie. They'd probably all pretend that it was normal for him to be there. No one would ask about Blair...he was sure Stephen wouldn't bring anything up in front of their father, and they'd ignore the fact that there was a gold band on Jim's left ring finger. 

Unconsciously, Jim ran his thumb over his ring, thinking about being the good guy, the 'bigger man'. His breath caught suddenly in his chest, and before he could get it out, he had started the truck and taken off with a squeal of tires. The hammering of his heart didn't fade away until the streets around him were once again filled with familiar noise and chaos. 

* * *

Thirty-seven minutes later, Blair drove up the same spotless, peaceful streets, heading for the same fine house. He found it somewhat difficult to equate Jim with the prosperous neighborhood, not that Jim didn't show signs of his background. On the other hand, maybe Jim fit into the picture better than at first glance. The product of a place where you learn to keep everything hidden, swept under the rug or veiled behind closed curtains. Still, Blair had trouble imagining Jim there, engaged in the everyday process of living and growing up. 

Blair spied the house, and wished that he had Jim's senses, just for a minute, so that he could peek in or eavesdrop. The only thing he could hear was the embarrassingly loud sound of his car rumbling, making him feel annoyingly conspicuous. Just do it, Sandburg, he told himself, but he continued to sit, watching the house, trying to detect movement inside, wondering why he had decided to come. There was little chance that he'd get a welcome reception. Especially once William Ellison heard what he had to say. 

Over and over, he had practiced his words, finding it helpful to gather his thoughts and temper his emotions by treating it like any of the hundreds of lectures he'd given over the years. He had the whole thing in his head, even down to any raised objections or personal attacks. Hopefully, something he would say might get through, and not make things worse. Though, since Jim and his father already weren't speaking, it couldn't get much worse... 

Except for the look that Blair imagined would be on Jim's face when Jim found out that Blair had gone behind his back, meddling in his family affairs. With a sigh, Blair stepped on the gas and drove off. But, three blocks later, he found himself making a sudden U-turn, and before he could change his mind again, he parked and went up, ringing the front doorbell. 

* * *

"Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come in here and sit down?" 

Griff smiled at his mother, watching her from where he was leaning inside the doorway to a decidedly masculine-looking room. She was sitting in a big, comfortable recliner, eyes closed. "I was just about to tell you to go to bed. What are you doing sitting in here in the middle of the night?" 

Lillian Paris opened her eyes, giving her son a slightly sad smile. "I keep telling myself that I'm going to do something with this room...fill it with plants or..." She shook her head, sighing. "Then, I find myself sitting here at odd hours, thinking...remembering." 

"I miss him, too." 

"I know you do. Come on, come in here and talk to me. We haven't really had a chance to talk since you've been home." 

"Well, it was sort of an unexpected visit. Didn't want to be in your way." 

"You know that you're welcome here anytime...and Nicky seems like a nice boy." 

Griff laughed softly, shaking his head at his mother, but then, agreeing with her. "He is. He's...I..." 

"Yes, it shows. It has from the very first time that you ever mentioned him to me. Besides, he's the first man that you've actually brought here." 

"I tell you about everybody. I haven't been hiding anything from you." 

"I didn't mean it that way. I just want you to know that I understand that what you have with Nicky is special." 

Griff nodded, but didn't answer. In fact, he looked away, guiltily, knowing that there were indeed things that he hadn't shared. Like why he had shown up unexpectedly on her doorstep the year before, moody and silent, taking off with no explanation, disappearing until Jim had found him and made him get in touch. 

"Tell me, son, are you okay? The two of you?" 

"Yeah, it's just the accident and everything." 

This time, it was his mother who nodded, saying nothing more. 

Griff stood, walked around what had been his father's favorite room, finding solace in his mother's presence and his father's spirit. "He seems so alive in here, doesn't he?" 

"Yes. Yes, he does." 

"Nick has some issues with his parents. Well, his father's dead, but I think Nick is still haunted by the man that his father was. And his mother, she just seems unwilling to simply accept Nick. They had a parting of the ways before we came here." Griff went to his mother's side, squatting down by her chair. "I don't think I ever told you how much I appreciated you and Dad for the way you were with me when I came out to you. How much I loved you for loving me back." 

"Son, sit down. Let me tell you something. Your father and I would never have wanted to be anything less than loving and supportive of you, but don't think that it was easy." 

Sitting right there on the floor, Griff frowned at his mother and the serious look on her relatively unlined face. 

"Was it easy for you?" she continued. "Didn't you worry over it? Hide it? Question it before you came to us, before you truly accepted it for yourself? Sorry to say, it wasn't much different for us. And not to defend how Nicky's being treated by his mother, but just like some people deny it in themselves, some parents can't or won't accept it in their children." 

Staring at his mother, Griff asked, "You mean you weren't really okay with me? With who I am?" His shock clearly registering. 

Lillian Paris sighed. "I'm saying that parents have hopes and expectations for their children based on all sorts of things, and some of them are flawed, even selfish. Your father and I weren't immune to that. For me, it was the image of you settling down with a nice wife and giving me grandchildren. I didn't realize how much I had been looking forward to that until it suddenly occurred to me that that wasn't going to happen. I guess if I had known all along...but you always seemed to like girls. I always thought that you and Yolanda would have had beautiful babies." 

"Mom..." 

"I know, I know. I didn't even like her that much, but still.... And it was hard putting up with family and friends, people at church, who can't handle the idea of you being gay. Not that we were ashamed of you...don't ever think that, and I'm sure it's only a fraction of what you have to deal with sometimes in this world, but it was still hard. Tiring, you know? You're my son and I love you, but I struggled with it, especially when your books took off and you were in the spotlight...somebody trying to kill you because of it. You have to remember that your children have to do what makes them happy... _be_ what makes them happy. It's not always an easy lesson for parents to learn. But, it's what I want for you and your sister...to be happy. I wasn't sure that you were at first, because you never talked about any of the men you were seeing. But Nicky's given you a spark I haven't seen since you were seventeen and were going out with Kimberly Ferris." 

Color rose to Griff's face as he remembered that some of that 'spark' hadn't been just from his dating Kim, but his hidden feelings for his best friend, Derek. Changing the subject, he finally said, "I never thought about any of that. I just wanted you both to still love me, and, I admit, I was more worried about Dad's reaction. I always thought that you.... You know, you've never mentioned me having kids." 

"I didn't want to be one of those nagging mothers. And now, between you and your sister, it looks like grandchildren are out." 

"Gigi doesn't want kids?" 

"I think she's pretty serious about Simon Banks, and his son is grown. I'm not sure he'd think about having more at this point." 

"He might...for her." 

"Maybe, but I won't get my hopes up." 

"Well, you know... I can still have kids." 

"Are you considering that?" 

"I hadn't, but I could." 

"You can't have children just to please me, Griffin Paris." 

"I'm not. I mean, I wouldn't, but I have been thinking about the future. Maybe kids could be a part of that." 

"And what does Nicky say?" 

"We haven't really discussed the long-term. He just moved in last month, and that was a big step for him." 

"Just don't keep him in the dark about what you want and how you feel." 

Griff yawned, chuckling when his mother followed suit. 

"Shame on you, son, for keeping me up so late. Come on, let's get to bed." 

When they were both standing, they hugged, and Griff kissed his mother on the cheek, glad that they had talked. 

* * *

On silent feet, Nick padded back to the room he was sharing with Griff, slightly embarrassed to have listened in on the private conversation between mother and son, unhappily noting how different it had been from his last talk with his own mother, despite Mrs. Paris' revelations. He hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but he had woken up, found himself alone in bed, not wanting to be alone, and after waiting a few minutes in case Griff was in the bathroom, he had gone in search. Downstairs, he had followed the faint sound of voices. When he was just outside the room, he heard Griff mention his name, and froze, resisting the urge to press himself against the wall. 

But, what made him stay was hearing Mrs. Paris talk of Griff and women and children. Not news to him, but still strange to hear that Griff had had female lovers that might have become wives, mothers of his children. Something so alien to his own personal experience. And he had been shocked when he heard Griff say that children were still a possibility...something that might be part of some vague long-term plans that he hadn't yet shared with Nick. With effort, Nick pushed himself down the hall, back up the stairs and into bed in time enough to be under the covers feigning sleep when Griff eventually slipped in next to him. 

His breathing was slow and even, but when Griff slid close, fitting their bodies together, his heart sped up, responding to the touch. They'd done little more than kiss for days, Nick not entirely comfortable with Griff's mother there in the same house... _her_ house. But, he suddenly seemed super sensitive to the weight, the heat, the gentle movements as Griff caught on to his reaction, the sound of Griff's delighted surprise. Turning, he rolled over on top of Griff, anxious to lose himself in the physical sensations, muffling Griff's moans with almost desperate kisses, trying to move slowly so that the creaking of the bed wouldn't bear witness to their actions. Still, his hips kept going faster, humping frantically against Griff, triggered by their self-imposed abstinence and Nick's jumbled emotions. 

Nick badly wanted to feel Griff inside him, but didn't want to break contact enough to scramble around for lube, so he took Griff's hand, sucked two fingers until they were as wet as he could make them, placing that hand on his rear, kissing Griff again with hunger. Taking the hint, Griff felt in the sweaty crack of Nick's ass, fingering the puckered opening and pushing inside, deep and to the point. To the point where Nick was basically beyond caring about how embarrassed he might be the next morning facing Griff's mother over breakfast, just wanting to come with Griff filling him, kissing him, holding him. 

Yet, it was Griff who came first. Nick heard the familiar low groans, felt Griff's body tighten and the sudden wet heat splash against him, but Griff didn't stop the in and out assault of Nick's ass, and Nick, sliding his cock in the slick puddle between them, came hard soon after, shuddering in pleasure. 

They panted harshly in each other's ears, until Griff chuckled softly, whispering 'Wow', making Nick laugh, too. Griff rolled from underneath, cleaned them up a bit, and resettled with Nick in his arms. Nick floated in the aftermath, refusing to think, refusing to feel anything other than the happiness of being loved at that moment, and fell asleep hoping to carry that into his dreams. 

* * *

A cheerful "Surprise!" greeted Blair when he answered the door to the loft. And he was indeed surprised, though, as he was enveloped in a warm hug, he thought that maybe he shouldn't have been. After all, Naomi had a way of almost never turning up when she was expected, but almost always at a time when something was going on. Recently, he had decided that _maybe_ he was ready to corner her about a certain subject, but he hadn't quite gotten himself together to seek her out. But that was Naomi...always at the right place at the wrong time...or the wrong place at the right time...or something. 

"Mom," he said when she finally let him go, "what are you doing here?" 

"Well, sweetie, I didn't make it to the party when you got your Ph.D., and I was on my way to a retreat and decided to make a little detour. Oh, but do I need a reason to see my baby?" she asked, hugging him again. 

"No, no, of course not. In fact I was about to try to track you down. Let me get your stuff." He reached down, picking up the tapestry duffel and several shopping bags on the floor next to her, and brought them inside. 

"So, tell me what's going on. How's Jim? And the new job? And why were you looking for me? Everything okay?" 

"Mom...slow down," Blair said, shaking his head and laughing a little. "Everything's fine. I just..." 

"Wait. First, let's eat. I brought lots of goodies and I'm going to fix you a fantastic meal." She got up, taking two of the shopping bags into the kitchen, and immediately started banging around with pots and pans, telling stories about what she'd been up to since she'd seen him last while she cooked. 

The meal went pleasantly, with Blair taking his turn at talking, filling her in on what he'd been doing. It reminded him of so many dinners from his childhood when it had just been the two of them, him telling about his day while they ate. Before he'd gotten older and she'd gotten restless. Before the various men, the trips where he was left behind, and his early entry into college. Blair and Naomi Sandburg, and despite his past fantasies and his current musings about his paternity, that had always been enough. 

Even with the questions that dealing with Jim and William Ellison had raised, he wasn't looking for an actual flesh-and-bone father, but only to flesh out the idea of one. To that end, when dinner was done and the kitchen was cleaned, he led his mother to the couch, determined to start a discussion. 

"There's something important that I want to ask you about, and I really need you to be totally honest with me." 

"Okay, sweetie, but I have to show you something first." 

"Mom..." 

"It'll only take a second." She rooted around in her purse and pulled out a folded newspaper page. "I was staying with some friends last week at their farm near the Catskills, and I saw this. It was...well...here..." she said, handing it over. 

When he opened it up, Blair saw a small black and white photograph of an older man with short, slightly curly hair, his wide-jawed face set in a curiously neutral expression. Accompanying the picture was a short article, headlined 'Daniel Green, State Assemblyman, dies at age 55.' 

"What is this?" 

"Read it, honey. Then, we'll talk." 

Blair read. Daniel Green had been a politician from upstate New York. An outspoken conservative Republican, wife but no kids, owner of several funeral homes, who had drowned in a swimming pool accident. 

"He was a musician when he was young," Naomi was saying. "A guitar player," she continued. 

"What?" Blair looked up from the paper, but his mother was staring somewhere off into space. 

"I saw him play at a music festival. I was young, trying out...things, just newly on my own. He was good looking, and talented, and full of...charisma. I was simply blown away by his passion when he played. Later that night, I got a chance to hang out with him and his band, and he was quiet, but so intense, and I was...hooked. But, by the next morning, he was gone." 

"What are you saying?" 

"I only knew him as Zoom...and it was only the one night. I know it seems crazy when you look at it that way, especially since it was over thirty years ago...but I'm ninety-nine percent sure, honey. It was magic to me, and I _know_ those eyes, I do. He did tell me that he was from New York, and his parents wanted him to study mortuary sciences so that he could work in the family business, and he really hated the idea of that. I wasn't going to say anything to you, but I meditated about it and I realized that I should share what I could. All of the times when you were little and you asked me questions...I just didn't have any answers. Still don't, I guess, not undeniable proof anyway, only a picture and my memories. I know that doesn't solve anything...doesn't give you a person to claim." 

Stunned, Blair just stared at his mother as she suddenly focused on him, grabbing his hand. 

"I always tried to be the best mother, and make you feel as if you were a child of the world. And I did that, right, sweetie? I didn't do so bad, did I?" 

"Mom...Mom...you did fine. I mean, look at me. I turned out okay." 

Blair calmly reassured his mother, though his heart was pounding and his head was spinning, and he thought he was either on the verge of tears or hysterical laughter. Leave it to Naomi to blow into town and blow him out of the water. And he wasn't at all sure how he felt about her news--this person that could have been his father. It was definitely something he needed time to process. But, as he put his arm around her, he had to admit that he was glad his mother was there. 

"So, baby," Naomi said, sniffling a little and hugging him back, "what was it that you wanted to ask me about?" 

Struck by the absurdity of his life, Blair started laughing quietly, unable to stop until tears fell from his eyes. 

* * *

"I'll get that," Griff said, standing up from the table where he and Nick were having breakfast. 

His mother had gone to church, leaving a large meal waiting for them. He thought it would be his friend, Charles, at the door. Tall, dark, handsome Charles, whom he'd known since college and who hadn't returned the phone call Griff had made when he first got back into town. Probably occupied with whomever was the current Mr. Right, Griff thought. Charles had an unfortunate habit of going through men quickly; sure he would find someone else who was better in some way. Griff believed that it was just Charles' way of dealing with his fears about commitment, and he hoped that someday Charles would meet someone who would tie him down (literally, if necessary) and show him he could be appreciated for the long haul. 

"I don't believe it," he said when he opened the door. 

"Surprised?" 

"You could say that," Griff answered with a grin. 

"I heard you were in town." 

"Oh, you _heard_ , huh?" 

"Well, Mama Lil told my mother who told me, and here I am. It's been a long time, Griffin." 

"Yeah, it has. Come on in." 

"Oh, I don't want to intrude, but we're not usually in town at the same time, so I just wanted to drop by and say hi." 

"Girl, get in here," Griff said, pulling his visitor into a hug. "It's good to see you, Kim." 

"You too. It's been _too_ long." 

Griff pulled away, his smile fading, though he made sure to keep his voice neutral. "How's D?" 

"I wouldn't know. Our divorce was final four months ago." 

"You and Derek _split_?" 

"Yeah, about time, too. You know, I'm really sorry about how he treated you. He used to be your best friend..." 

"Not your fault. And I'm sorry things didn't work out for the two of you." 

"I'm just glad we didn't have kids...the divorce was difficult enough. Though now, my clock is ticking with no prospects in sight." 

"Your time will come, and you'll be a great mother." 

"Right. From your lips to..." Her voice trailed off and Griff turned around to see what had caught her attention. 

"Oh, man, I'm sorry, Nico. Just got caught up talking. Come here, there's somebody that I want you to meet. Kim, this is my lover, Nicolas. Nick, this is an old friend from high school, Kim Ferris." 

Kim laughed, shaking her head at Griff. "God, remember how people used to get stupid with that 'Ferris and Paris' stuff?" She reached out to shake Nick's hand. "Nice to meet you, Nick. I hope you're keeping him in line." 

"Nice to meet you, too, and I'm trying." 

Griff watched them...his past and, hopefully, his future, and had to smile at how his life had changed. He curled one arm around Nick's shoulders, feeling lucky. 

"Well, I'll let you guys catch up," Nick said, pulling away. 

"No, I'm about to go," Kim responded. 

"Wait, you two," Griff said. "Kim, come on, hang with us for a while. Just let me get my coffee." 

"No, Griffin, really, I think I'm going to lay down for maybe an hour or something," Nick said, and Griff grew concerned. 

"Are you okay?" He turned to Kim, saying, "Nick was in a bad car accident recently." 

"I'm fine," Nick answered, "just a little headache." 

"It's okay. I'll catch you another time, Griff." Kim said. 

"No, don't do that," Nick said to her. "Everything's cool, really." 

"Kim," Griff said, "why don't you go to the den, and I'll get you some coffee, too?" 

"Okay, if you're sure," she said, turning to go down the hall, and Griff waited until she was gone. 

"Do you need to go to the doctor?" 

"I'll just sleep it off. Probably just didn't get enough rest. Somebody woke me up in the middle of the night, you know." 

Griff relaxed at the amused gleam in Nick's eye. "Hmmm, I seem to remember something like that, yeah. Okay, you go lie down. I'll wake you when Kim leaves and see how you feel. Think you'll still be up for going out to dinner tonight?" 

"No problem. Just go talk to your friend." 

Narrowing his gaze a little, Griff moved closer to his lover. "If something were wrong, you'd tell me right?" 

"Griffin, I love you, but you worry too much." 

Raising his hands in surrender, Griff said, "All right, I hear you. I'm backing off." 

Nick grabbed him, saying, "Not too far," before kissing him and breaking away with a smile. 

"You better go on up before you tempt me into starting something right here that Kim probably doesn't want to see." 

Nodding, Nick turned to the stairs. "See you in a few." 

Griff watched him go, and then went to the kitchen for coffee and cake before going to the den to join Kim. 

"Sorry about that. I just wanted to make sure that he was really all right. He doesn't like me to worry, so I think he's not telling me everything." 

"I understand." 

"In addition to the accident, he had a falling out with his mother about his being gay, and I know he's still coming to terms with that, but he doesn't want to talk about it." 

"I'm sorry. I hope everything works out." 

"It will." Griff said, his conviction only slightly less than his voice conveyed. 

"I'm sure it will. So, how are you? You're looking good." 

"I'm feeling good. Things are great...with my books, with Nick. I finally feel like everything's coming together." 

"Your dad would have loved to have seen you this happy." 

"Yeah," Griff said, but he didn't want to think about how much he wished his father was there, so he changed the subject. 

He and Kim talked; losing track of time as they told stories, bridging the gap of time and distance that had grown between them because of Derek. Before they knew it, Griff's mother was back, happy and surprised to see Kim, and when Nick finally woke up and came looking, they were all still sitting around reminiscing with a comfortable, familial air. 

* * *

Taking a deep breath, idly noting the lingering traces of his lover's scent as his mind turned things over, Jim tried very hard not to pace. Something was up with Blair, and at first he had figured that it was just Naomi's out-of-the-blue visit. Even a brief encounter with Naomi had the tendency to stir things up a bit. He had been surprised to come home and find her there, though not unpleasantly so, and the stay seemed to have progressed in a perfectly harmless way. Still, Blair had been a little quieter than normal, and when Naomi and Blair had said goodbye, with the usual hugs and promises from Naomi to keep in touch, it hadn't seemed quite the same. 

Two days later, Naomi had called, which following so closely on the heels of her being there, Jim found even more surprising than her simply showing up at their door. Blair had had a short conversation with her, and Jim had dialed way down, not giving in to the temptation to eavesdrop. Afterwards, though, he had asked Blair if everything was all right, and both Blair's smile and affirmative answer had seemed genuine. 

A knock on the door jerked him from his contemplation, startling him when he realized that he hadn't even heard anyone approach the loft. Too many times in recent memory he had allowed himself to drift away on scent. Going to have to watch that, he thought, before it happens around Blair. He rubbed his eyes, collecting himself, only to be stunned by the sight of his father on the other side of the door. And not just by his presence, but how _old_ he seemed. As usual, he felt a rush of mixed emotions zip through him, and also as usual, anger seemed to rise to the top. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"I can't come see my own son? Especially when he doesn't come to check on his sick father?" 

Jim noticed his father leaning on a cane, and felt a twinge of sympathy, though it did nothing to soften his tone. "Should you even be out? How'd you get here? Do Sally or Stephen know where you are?" 

William shifted his weight, straightening up, standing a bit taller, face set in a frown, and older or not, Jim saw the man he had grown up with. "I can still drive. I don't need anybody mollycoddling me." 

But, Jim could also see the effort it took for his father to maintain the pose. "Christ, Dad, just come in and sit down." 

He watched William shuffle a little to the couch, and sit down heavily. Cursing to himself, he went to get his father a glass of water. The two men eyed each other as William sipped, and Jim sat down as well, suddenly too tired to even stay mad. 

"What is this all about, Dad?" he asked, wearily, "'cause, I'll tell you, I'm not up for a fight with you, so if you just want to criticize me and my life, then you might as well finish your water and go home." 

William took a few more sips from his glass, eyes still on Jim until Jim actually started to feel uncomfortable, resenting his father's ability to unnerve him in his own home. It was almost a relief when the older man finally spoke. 

"Your...uh...Sandburg came to see me not too long ago." 

With a dull roar, Jim could hear the pieces start falling into place. His father must have had something to do with Blair's recent agitation, and not Naomi. He wondered if Naomi had somehow convinced Blair to make an overture on his behalf. 

"What did you say to him?" Jim asked, not even realizing that he had gotten to his feet until he was towering over his father, causing the other man to flinch. William quickly played off the reaction, but it had been enough to get Jim to back away, though he remained standing, arms crossed, face serious. 

"Sit down, Jimmy. Trust me, he has no problem standing up for himself." 

Jim suppressed a tight smile, though he wondered what had happened to make his father come to that assessment. 

"So, I see you didn't know about his little visit," William said, leaning forward in his seat, continuing when Jim didn't comment. "Look, I'm not going to lie about things that I don't like." 

A harsh snort escaped Jim. "You know what? It's been years since I accepted the fact that you don't like me." 

"That's not true. I _love_ you, Jimmy. I just wanted--" 

"This is _not_ about what _you_ want." Jim forced himself not to shout, and his voice was steely with controlled emotion. "It's about _my_ life, and how I choose to live it." With a shrug, he added, "And if you can't be a part of that..." 

"Jimmy..." 

"I have my job, I have these crazy senses, and I have Blair. And, for a change, it's all good." 

"So, you're saying that you don't have to have me or your brother?" 

"I hope Stevie and I work things out," Jim replied, the implication clear. 

A bit unsteadily, William lurched to his feet. "So, this is all my fault, right?" He took a few steps towards the door. "Right. Always blame the old man." 

Jim didn't move, except to turn his head in his father's direction. "You've been pushing me away since I was a kid. Ever since you started to realize what I was. You weren't afraid for me, or worried about me. You only cared how it might reflect on you. And, you basically turned your back on me after I came home from Peru. The whole world looked on me as a hero, but my own father could still only see me as a freak. I know the army filled you in on the problems I was having, and you probably guessed what that meant, and didn't want any part of me. Hell, come to find out, that wasn't even the half of it. Was it, Dad? Because now you know that your freak son is also queer. In love with a man, having sex with a man, practically _married_ to a man." 

A twisted smile accompanied his next words, and he faced William full on. "Good thing you never knew about what I used to do with Cole Washburn's son, isn't it?" and Jim couldn't deny that he enjoyed the shock to cross his father's face. "But, I'm supposed to rise above that, right?" he asked with a sneer of disgust. "Well, just once, I'd like to hear you say that you fucked up. That you made mistakes with Stevie and me. See _you_ be the bigger man. But I won't hold my breath. Look, you should probably go now...you're looking tired." 

William shifted his weight a little, leaning more noticeably on his cane, and swallowed several times before speaking. "I'm an old man, Jimmy. I came here to try to settle things. You want me to admit that I screwed up? Okay, but I did the best I could, and it wasn't that I was only concerned about my status in the community...I just didn't know how to deal with what was going on with you, what to do to help. With your mother gone, I felt like I was falling apart, and I hated that. I pushed my sons so that they would be stronger men than me." He chuckled, though it sounded bitter. "And you are, though it's no thanks to me, I suppose. You may not believe this, but I'm proud of you." He moved back towards Jim. "So, I'm willing to put things behind us. Are you?" 

For a long moment, Jim just watched his father, until William seemed to grow uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Okay, here are the facts. I'm not a businessman; I'm a cop. Maybe you can accept that now. I can hear your heartbeat from here, can hear the blood rush through your veins if I concentrate hard enough. Maybe you can accept that too, now. But if you can't accept Blair, you can't be in my life." 

"Jimmy, I like Sandburg," William said, ignoring the disbelief on Jim's face, "I do. He's proven to be a good friend to you, a partner you can trust." 

"He's more than that, Dad." 

"I'd be lying if I didn't say that it's going to take getting used to," William said, moving closer, "but, how can I get used to it at all, if you don't let me in?" He reached out, grasping Jim's arm with a surprisingly strong grip. "Sandburg told me that every boy should have a chance with his father." 

"I'm a _man_." 

"But, it's not too late, right? You going to wait until the only conversation we can have is with you cursing me over my grave?" 

How had Blair gotten him into this, Jim wondered. "Fine. I'm not saying it'll work, but we can give it a shot. I can't have Blair accusing _me_ of being the stubborn one in the Ellison family." 

William gave Jim a hesitant smile, and squeezed his arm one time before backing away. 

"That's fair, son, so I guess I'll go now." When he got to the door, Jim following close behind, he cocked one eyebrow in Jim's direction. "You serious about you and Tad Washburn?" 

"Do you really want to know?" 

After a pause, William answered, "Maybe not." 

Just as he was finally allowing himself to relax, Jim heard something that almost made him tense up again. Something he wasn't quite ready for. The door opened and Blair walked in, obviously surprised to see the two men standing there. 

"Oh, hey," Blair said, looking back and forth between father and son. 

"Blair," Jim said calmly, "you remember my father?" 

"Uh, yeah. How are you feeling Mr. Ellison?" 

"Better, thanks," William replied as he shook Blair's hand. 

"Good, good." 

Blair was nervous, and Jim had to fight to keep from smiling. "Dad, you need me to give you a lift home?" 

"No, no. I'm fine." 

"You sure?" 

"Yes, Jimmy, but thank you." 

"Then, I'll just walk you down." 

"No need. You, um, you know, relax with Blair. I'll be all right." 

"Okay, but call me when you get there." 

"Will do. See you, son." 

Their parting hug was awkward, but Jim thought their smiles came easily enough. 

"So," Blair started when they were alone. 

"Shhh..." Jim listened to his father's slow steps down the hall, the descent of the elevator, and finally the smooth rumbling as his luxury car drove away. Stubborn bastard, he thought, unable to deny that it applied to himself as well. Like father, like son. Not totally, he argued, and turned his attention back to Blair. 

"So," Blair tried again, dropping his bag and crossing the room away from Jim, "looks like you two worked a few things out." 

"To me," Jim said, walking across the room, "it looks like you have been meddling again." He kept moving closer, until Blair backed into the couch. "It looks like you've been keeping secrets." Wrapping a fist in Blair's hair, he pulled Blair's face towards him, his hips pushing forward, grinding against Blair's groin. "It looks like you need to be taught a lesson," he said, placing a teasing kiss near Blair's lips. 

"Well, if you look at it that way, of course it seems bad, but I can explain." 

Jim pushed until Blair fell onto the couch, and he slowly stretched out on top of him. "Explain later," he growled before taking Blair's mouth in a deep kiss. 

It was a long time before Blair could speak at all. 

* * *

"So, what's wrong?" 

Nick felt as if he had been ambushed, lulled into a false sense of security the past few days with Griff, only to be trapped in the passenger seat while Griff drove the newly refurbished Explorer, leaving him no way to escape questions. He couldn't help but note the difference between his trip out of Cascade and his trip back. Going out, _he_ had been driving, full of hope, anticipation, love and certainty. Filled with such joy as he made his way to his mother's house. The accident had been an omen, he was sure. An indication that he was about to experience some major blows in his life, and after the past weeks, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. 

For starters, his relationship with his mother had been torn apart...reduced to a level of one-sided contact marked by the letters he had been writing. A new one was in his pocket, ready to mail when he got back home. 

He hadn't wanted to make a road trip back, definitely wasn't up to driving just yet, but he hadn't wanted to see any signs of pity in Griff's eyes if he had refused the idea. Should have gone with my first instinct anyway, he thought, because with three hours still to go, he didn't want to be asked questions, especially when he knew that Griff would want to discuss and present arguments against the answers he had to give. 

The days before they'd flown back to Houston to get the Explorer had seemed to go smoothly, full of fun-filled distractions, but obviously his preoccupation since meeting Griff's friend, Kim, hadn't gone unnoticed. It had taken him a while to come to grips with what he'd heard eavesdropping on Griff and Lillian, and the bit he'd overheard before walking in on Griff and Kim--being confronted with a side of Griff that he hadn't ever really thought about before. 

His own needs and wants were relatively simple, but Griff seemed to want and need so much more...from him, out of life. And every step challenged Nick, though he had grown to like the idea of living together, and even the fact that they both worked at home together. But children...and the concept of family that Griff had grown up with, hell, that he himself had grown up with, though with different results...seemed beyond him to imagine, yet selfish of him to deny. 

"Nico, please. Will you just tell me what's wrong?" Griff repeated. 

Trapped in a car at sixty-five miles per hour filled with doubt and fear, with Griff pushing him until he could feel anger also pulsing under the surface. Anger at Griff. Because, after all, Griff was the one who had insisted that he keep in touch so much that he had risked his life just to call and hear Griff's voice. Without that, there wouldn't have been an accident, no need for Griff to go to Houston, no disagreement to work out with his mother, no overheard conversations about wives and babies, no introductions to ex-girlfriends, no discussions on the highway about what was wrong with him when all he wanted to do was just get home in peace. 

As usual, he tried to rein it all in, but harbored little hope of getting out of the discussion smoothly and quietly. He was sure that Griff wouldn't just accept any sort of 'clean break', and let it go at that, though he was forced to admit that the last time they'd had trouble, it had been he who hadn't been able to let it lie. With David, though it had hurt, one day it had just been over with no attempts from either side to go back. Simple and quick. 

"Nico..." 

"I heard you and your mother talking the other night," Nick began, deciding to take the plunge. "I woke up and you weren't there, and I didn't mean to listen, but I heard you mention my name..." 

Griff looked at Nick, his brow wrinkled, then turned back to the road. "Oh, yeah, I'm sorry. I told her about the situation with your mother. She was concerned and everything. She really likes you." 

Nick let that pass, though he appreciated Lillian Paris. It was gratifying, though strange, to experience the sense of acceptance that he would have liked to have with his own mother...sitting around a table with Griff, having her smile at them. He wished he could have met Griff's father, too. One big happy family... 

"Not that," he finally said, after swallowing and clearing his throat so he could speak. "About you wanting to have children. And then when I saw you with Kim..." 

"Wait. Hold up. Don't even go there. Kim and I--" 

" _Griffin_." Nick looked over, grateful that for the most part Griff had to keep his eyes ahead. "I'm not implying anything about you and Kim. I'm not jealous of your relationship, past or present. But... _children_..." 

"Nico, I'm not trying to go out and make some babies. The idea of kids for me is far in the future, and I'd think we'd probably adopt or something." 

"I don't think I even _want_ kids. I never even thought about it. And if _you_ do...well, I don't think there should be any reason you couldn't go about it the...traditional way, that's all." 

Griff didn't respond, and Nick actually let himself think that was it. Last word--end of discussion. Until he noticed Griff taking the next exit towards a rest stop, complete with gas station and fast food. 

When he had pulled into an available parking space, Griff cut the engine, gripping the steering wheel, but turning his head in Nick's direction. "Tell me, honestly, is it that you don't want love in your life, a relationship, or just not with me? I mean, you know how I feel about you. You had me with that first kiss, and when I think about my future, I always envision you with me. I haven't made a secret of that. I told you after Jim and Blair exchanged rings what I'd like to have with you." 

"Sure, but I've never heard you mention kids before." 

"No, because I didn't have this grand scheme to become a father. It was something that I'd thought about before, but I had never seriously considered it before my mother brought it up, because it was way too early with you...with us. I've been working on not pushing you...in any direction. Taking it day by day with you. And I'm happy with that. I really am. I just hope the days keep going on." 

Nick couldn't do more than stare, thinking that not having David hadn't hurt half as much as just _thinking_ about not having Griff. He knew it was stupid to want a guarantee, but he did. 

"You know," he said, trying for nonchalant, "I've never had a girlfriend. Never slept with a woman, never kissed a woman. Never wanted to." 

He could see the fury flash in Griff's eyes, the shadow of hurt that followed. 

"You think I'd rather be with some woman than with you?" 

"No," Nick answered, keeping his gaze as steady as possible, "actually, I don't, but that doesn't mean that you *won't* somewhere down the line when the itch to have kids gets a little stronger." 

Forcefully, Griff turned the key in the ignition, starting the car, and pressed down hard on the gas, speeding towards the exit back to the highway. Halfway across the lot, he braked suddenly, stopping the car. 

"That's fucking ridiculous!" 

Griff took a deep breath, and Nick hated being the cause of the tension visible in Griff's face, the stiff posture, and hands again tight around the steering wheel. 

"Okay, I still find some women attractive...I find some other _men_ attractive, too. So what? I know where I want to be, and if I have children someday, I want it to be with you, however we choose. I'm not going to just leave you and go off to make the quote-unquote traditional family. I can't put it to you any clearer than that. You have to trust me, Nico." 

Nick wanted to let go and trust, but the idea of Griff with women and what that entailed seemed much more formidable than any other issue, including other men. 

"Look, the truth of the matter is that regardless of how much I might like women, I haven't dated _any_ woman in years. Not since I almost got married. One woman not being able to handle the fact that I've had sex with men was enough. That's all there is to it." 

Though he wasn't sure it could actually be that simple, Nick knew one thing, that despite any doubts or misgivings, he didn't _want_ to give up what he had with Griff. "Okay," he said, whispered, really, but at least he didn't sound shaky. 

"You never answered my question. Do you really want love in your life? Me in your life?" 

Mere weeks ago, Nick knew he had felt fucking lucky to still have that very thing, and he did love Griff, wanted him, and needed to believe that it could work out. It would be nice to believe that maybe Griff was right and there was nothing _to_ work out. 

"Yes, I do." 

"So, can we go _home_ , now?" Griff asked, letting go of the wheel to rub his palms against his pants. 

Nick smiled, grateful for the easing of the ache in his chest. One thing was simple enough...in a complicated sort of way. 'Home' used to be a house in Houston, now it was a place with Griff. 

"You're the one who pulled off the highway," he teased. 

"You're trying to give me a heart attack, aren't you?" 

"I'm sorry," Nick said as they got back on the road. "It's just weird thinking about the life you could have had with a wife and everything." 

"I have the life I want...with _you_ and everything." 

Griff reached over, one hand resting on Nick's thigh, squeezing gently, and Nick felt himself start to unwind under the caress. No one had ever made him feel the way Griff could, and with Griff touching him, it wasn't hard at all to accept that love was everything. He shifted a little closer, thinking that he couldn't wait to get home, ignoring the passing scenery in favor of watching his lover's face. 

* * *

Jim pushed back with his hips, enjoying the answering thrust from Blair, the sweet friction of Blair slowly sliding back inside him, and he squeezed the muscles of his ass around Blair's cock, pleased when Blair moaned, long and low. He wanted to buck hard, make Blair ride him fast and fierce, but he forced himself to relax into the rhythm that Blair was setting. 

Earlier, he had been the one on top, kissing and biting his way up Blair's body, until he had been straddling the furry chest, hard and ready. Taking two fistfuls of hair, he had fucked Blair's mouth, stroking steadily into the welcome heat, climaxing quickly and powerfully. 

Now, though, he clutched the back of the couch, ignoring the slight pain where his knees pressed into the seat cushions, relishing the feel of Blair's hands gripping his hips and the taste of himself on the back of his tongue from the kiss they'd shared and the irregular twitching of his spent cock whenever Blair hit bottom in just the right way. It was torture, but exquisitely so, and after drawn-out moments of deep strokes, with Blair's panting breaths stirring the air and Blair's sweat dripping on his back, his dick hardened, lengthening again, throbbing eagerly. 

Still, it was too soon when he heard Blair whispering, "I'm coming Jim, I'm coming Jim," over and over, the words faint and harsh as if from far away, and though he knew Blair had picked up the pace, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and he couldn't concentrate on anything more than his own pleasure--his dick growing even harder, his balls tightening in preparation for his own release--and he was coming before he could even let go of the couch to use a hand to help the process along. Almost immediately, his surroundings caught up with him, the slamming of Blair's thrusts, the raspy sound of Blair crying out, and the pulses of Blair finally going over the edge. 

It was only after collapsing on the couch with Blair's full weight on top of him and a cool sticky place beneath him, that he belatedly thought that he shouldn't have started anything without a towel handy. 

Blair placed a row of kisses down Jim's spine and slowly pulled out, then pushed Jim over and plopped beside him. They rearranged themselves, leaning on opposite ends of the couch, legs meeting and entwining between them, while they caught their breath. 

"So," Jim said, finally, eyes opening to gaze lazily and lovingly at his partner. "I think you had something to tell me?" 

"Yeah," Blair replied, stretching a little, while Jim watched the movement appreciatively. "I think I know who my father is." 

That statement penetrated the sexual fog clouding Jim's brain and he sat up, instantly alert. "You wanna run that by me again, Chief?" 

"Sure, but let me go clean up first, okay?" 

Jim nodded, wondering how he had missed the layers to the tension that had been surrounding Blair, so easily noticeable now. He went upstairs, grabbing clean boxers and tees for them both, and after giving a brief thought to allowing Blair some privacy, went into the bathroom and slipped into the shower. They washed quickly, wasting no time under the water, with Jim trying not to hover, but brushing against Blair as often as he could. 

Clean, dry, back on the couch, sipping cold beers and listening to a CD Blair had picked out that Jim didn't recognize, Blair seemed content to let the matter of his paternity drop. Though Jim prided himself on being able to outlast Blair any day in the 'keep it to yourself' department, the waiting was killing him. 

"This have something to do with Naomi's visit?" he finally asked. 

"Yeah," Blair sighed, pulling the top book from a stack on the floor. He opened it, taking out a folded newspaper page and handing it to Jim. While Jim read, he told the same story that his mother had told him. 

"Are you going to follow up on it?" Jim asked, when Blair stopped talking. "Do some research? Or we could run some records..." 

"Jim, Jim. Wait. I don't know _what_ I want to do. It might not even be him at all. We're talking about Naomi--there's an equal chance of her being way off the mark as well as on the money." 

"But DNA tests are--" 

"Jim, let me take my time with this, okay? This guy...I just want some time to get used to it." 

"No problem, Chief." 

"The thing is I miss him. Not _him_ , exactly, but the idea of him. I mean, I never felt deprived because I didn't have a father, and I had this fantasy all worked out...some guy who was always out there somewhere. But if Daniel Green is him, then he's gone. And that...hurts." 

Jim didn't know what to say to that, so he just put his arm around Blair, offering silent support, and they sat that way, sort of leaning on one another, while drums and flutes played in the background. He remembered what his father said Blair had told him: that every boy should have a chance with their father, and he tried to imagine William Ellison dead and gone. Though they'd had their share of trouble, there was some comfort in just knowing that his father was somewhere, even when they hadn't been speaking. It meant possibilities, at least. Second chances, he added, promising himself that he would put some effort into working things out between them, before it really was too late. 

"I'm going to turn in now, okay?" he heard Blair ask. 

Blinking to clear his head, he answered, "Go ahead. I'll come up, too." 

He threw away the empty bottles, made sure everything was locked up, and climbed the stairs to get into bed next to Blair. Once settled, he whispered in Blair's ear. 

"Didn't you forget something, Chief?" 

"What?" Blair mumbled into Jim's chest. 

"You know...the secret powwow with my father." 

"I can explain that, Jim, really," came the drowsy reply. 

"Explain later," Jim managed to murmur before sleep came and took them both. 

* * *

"Shit. They're here. Go get the door." 

"Me? Why do I have to go?" 

"Hey, Einstein, it was your bright idea to have a quickie. I told you we didn't have time." 

"And yet, here you are naked and sticky. Well, I'm not going to the door looking all...fucked. I'm going to jump in the shower right quick. I'll leave the water running for you." Smirking, Blair crawled out of bed over rumpled bedding and discarded underwear. "And you don't have to put anything on. After all, Griffin's already seen your goods." 

The pillow that thwacked him in the head, only made Blair laugh as he made his way down the stairs, calling out, "Just a sec," in the general direction of the front door, before closing himself in the bathroom. 

Forced into action, Jim rose, scooping up everything and dumping it in the hamper, then, grabbed his robe and went to the door. 

"Sorry about that," he said to the two men waiting in the hall, trying not to blush, "we're, uh, not quite ready." 

"We're going to be late, and I'll let you tell Gigi exactly why," Griff said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as he walked in. 

"Not me. I'll let Sandburg explain. Then again...maybe not." He turned to Nick, changing the subject. "Nick, glad you're doing okay." 

"Thanks, but it wasn't as bad as Griffin probably told you." 

"Well, you guys sit down, we'll be ready in a few minutes." 

Inside the bathroom, Jim threw back the curtain on a startled Blair. "Okay, Sandburg, out. Ponytail the hair and get dressed. We're supposed to meet Simon and Gigi in fifteen minutes." 

Blair splashed Jim as he got out, stealing a kiss, and smacking Jim on the ass with a wet palm, ignoring Jim's glaring face. By the time he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out, Jim was under the spray, busy soaping up. 

"Hey, guys. Nicky, good to see you in one piece, man." 

"Thanks, Blair. Good to be home," he said, giving Griff a quick side glance. "But, I was just a little banged up, the Explorer took the brunt." 

Minutes later, Jim came out of the bathroom only to find Blair still in a towel telling a story that Jim was sure Blair had told a thousand times before. "Excuse us," he said, cutting Blair off in mid-sentence and dragging him up the steps by the arm, and then back down again in record time. 

They drove off in Griff's SUV, Griff and Nick in the front, Jim and Blair in the back. 

"Jim, when do you get your pick-up back?" 

"Pick it up tomorrow morning, and my mechanic made me promise to stay out of car chases from now on." 

"We could have taken _my_ car today and met everybody at the restaurant." When Jim gave him a pointed look, Blair continued, "Oh, that's cold, man. That baby purrs like a kitten." 

"I think you mean roars like a wounded mountain lion," Jim countered, earning a smack on the arm from Blair. 

"Well, anyway," Griff interrupted, "I'm glad you all decided to come with us to breakfast. We haven't had a chance to get together in a while." 

"I might as well have one pleasant meal today. Blair's making me have dinner with my father tonight." 

"And I expect you to _behave_ , too." 

"I will, I will," Jim said, not admitting that he was actually looking forward to it. He'd had several conversations with his dad over the past few weeks, and they hadn't been half-bad. "So, how was your mom, Griff?" 

"Good. Glad to see me, as usual, and thrilled to meet Nick. She called him a nice boy." 

"Well, since I was the first _boy_ that you ever brought home.... Plus, I _am_ nice," Nick said, only to be met with laughter. 

"I could tell her about the time that you and Johnny DiMarco--" Blair started. 

"And if you do, I've got a story that I don't think Jim's heard yet--about a certain undergrad field study. Does the phrase 'chili sauce' ring a bell?" 

"Oh, shit! Okay, you win," Blair said, ignoring the curious glances from Jim. "By the way, you missed Hurricane Naomi blowing into town. I swear, one day you guys will really get to meet her." 

"Just brace yourselves, she's quite an experience." 

"Hey, I thought you liked my mom." 

"I do, Chief. There's nobody like her." 

"I'm sure that's a compliment," Blair said, unbuckling as Griff parked the car. 

They were walking up to the restaurant, when Nick said, "Wait a second," and jogged to the corner, dropping a letter into the mailbox there. "To my mother," he said with a shrug, when he got back to them. Jim and Blair nodded; not commenting on the situation that Griff had told them about. Before they could go in, they saw Simon and Giselle coming across the street. 

"Don't say a word," Simon grumbled. 

Giselle rolled her eyes, smiling and giving hugs all around. "I told you they wouldn't be on time, anyway." 

"Let's discuss this inside," Simon said, motioning towards the door. "There's a big stack of pancakes calling my name." 

There was a general murmuring about French toast and omelettes as they entered the restaurant bunched together. Jim held the door as each person went inside, and watching them, he had the fleeting thought that there were a lot of ways to define 'family', and it made him smile as he followed them, his mind already on strips of crispy bacon. 

**END**


End file.
